


Prayers to a Lesser God

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Alteration, Paganism, Stiles Stilinski Saves The Hales, Stiles Stilinski is a God, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: When the Hales are trapped in a house fire, Peter prays to every deity he's ever read about. Miraculously, one answers his call.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 234
Kudos: 2329
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs, Suggested Good Reads





	Prayers to a Lesser God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> Many many thanks especially to Triscuits and Soup. Slfe. Sif. <333 You're wonderful.
> 
> Gryvon, I hope you like this. I scrapped the first idea I had but I think this one is close to what you wanted? I hope?
> 
> Thank you to my betas, Twisted Mind and majoline. Thanks to whreflections and MrsRiducully who looked at this in its early stages and encouraged me to keep going. If anyone else helped and I forgot, I'm really really sorry.
> 
> ALSO I would like to celebrate massively because this is my 100th Teen Wolf fic on AO3. TADA!!!

When he faked his death in the midst of the dark ages, his name wasn't Stiles. His father called him Mischief at times, being close to his true name and his (former) place in the pantheon.

But that life is behind him. He decided a long time ago to live the way he wants, and that is to be born and have a life and die (as much as he can) over and over as a human. He's still an incarnation of chaos, a lesser god of a long-forgotten religion, but what good is that if he can't live?

So he does. He takes breaks between lives to sleep and dream and ponder, but soon he's back at it again. It doesn't matter that the world forgot him, he tells himself. When he's in a human life, he pushes that part to the side, to the back of his mind, and doesn't dwell. There's always so much to learn in a new life that he doesn't mind at all.

Really.

* * *

Peter is a student of the rare fact, a collector of the esoteric. He can rattle off the names of long-forgotten cities and their founders. He knows the folklore of modern and historical lands, their myths and their religions, even the ones that fell out of the public consciousness centuries or even millennia before. What started as research into the history (and prehistory) of werewolves became much more.

So when a trap falls into place, and the Hales are in danger, when the fire begins to spread, and he realizes they might all die at once in some unknown enemy's plan, he doesn't panic. He reaches out to those who might still be around to help them.

In other words, Peter prays. He goes through his memory and prays to deities he's only read about, gods that could be some supernatural helpers or perhaps creatures who will show up to extend bargains. Peter doesn't care who or what may answer; he only wants to save his pack.

* * *

The part of Stiles that helped shape lives and the world around them is sleeping and has been for a very long time. He hasn't had a follower, or felt a shred of belief, in over a thousand years, so he's pushed that part of himself down and let his lives play out as they will without much difference. Oh, he still has an affinity for mischief and mayhem, but that's his personality. And maybe his tricks are genius, and perhaps he gets away with more than he should, but for the most part, he doesn't use his powers.

Not that his powers are strong without believers or the reciprocation magic that was a hallmark of his people. But people can be his without knowing it if they are crafty and cunning enough. He's automatically drawn to certain mortals if he's around them, and they always like the little boy who smiles like he knows a secret. But he doesn't keep track of them the way he once did. He doesn't follow their lives and help them along the way. That part of his lifecycle is over, and he's grateful. Really. He doesn't miss it.

But then one night, after dinner with his mom and dad, while reading in his room before bed, he hears his name. Not the name the mortals have given him in this life, nor the various given- or nicknames he's had over the centuries of playing this part, but _his name_. The pronunciation isn't quite right, but no one would be able to get it right unless they lived in a specific community many thousands of years in the past. But it's unmistakably _his name_ and Stiles recognizes the flavor of the calling as a prayer. A desperate one.

His powers are weak; he can't get there on the wind or in the blink of an eye like he once could, and what he does have is rusty from disuse. 

It doesn't matter. Stiles has to get to the call. He isn't being offered anything, he doesn't think, but the tone of the request lets him know that's not out of disrespect. Someone is in danger, and they've called upon him, and the little part of him, the spark that marks him as a god, responds.

He barrels down the stairs of his house, past his parents, and out the back door. He is vaguely aware of his mother's exclamation of surprise, and his father's worry, and knows they will try to follow. He also knows he's too fast for them because while he can't skip-ride upon the winds, he can run like he's flying across the ground, with the swiftness of the falcon in a swoop. Maybe, he thinks as he blurs toward his supplicant, the strangeness of the situation has given him the power to move even faster. Because from the moment he hears his name to the moment he runs into the clearing to take in the situation, there is no thought, only movement. 

The house would be impressive yet inviting, if not for the fact that it is an inferno. And the person inside with Stiles's name on his lips is trapped within it. Not only that, but there are others. Stiles concentrates on what he'll find inside and realizes there are many others caught in the fire, still alive and terrified, and he has to work quickly.

He decides without a second thought to the consequences. He girds himself, pulls moisture from the air around him, and enters the house. 

The first thing he notices is that it's challenging to get over the threshold. There's some kind of barrier — mountain ash, a clumsy tool for inelegant murderers — that he breaks with a thought. Once that's gone, he walks in and zeroes in on the people closest to the door. 

"The barrier is gone. Get out," Stiles tells them.

He doesn't know what he looks like at this moment, whether he just appears as a small god or a young mortal, but they listen and leave out the front door. There's a crash upstairs as someone leaps from a window, but Stiles is sure they are not quite human and will be okay.

He follows the pull he feels and ends up down in the basement. There are smoke and flames, but he avoids them as best as he can. He goes down a short hallway and finds a group of werewolves coughing and trying to break through a wall. They must think it's another way out, but it's blocked.

"Who called me?" Stiles asks when they look at him. But the answer is already singing in his mind. One of the werewolves is brighter than the others, his aura shining out, mind and soul both clever and very obviously _his_. "You."

The man is in his twenties, maybe, or older — it's hard to tell with werewolves. His eyes are wide as they look at Stiles, and that's worth a smile.

"I broke the mountain ash barrier. You can go upstairs and-" There's a crash as part of the first floor comes down. Part of the basement ceiling bars the staircase now. Stiles sighs. "Well, maybe not."

* * *

Peter stares at the god before him. At first glance, if one wasn't aware of the aura of light and power emanating from him, he might look like a little boy, Cora's age, or maybe a little younger. So about ten years old? But Peter feels something. And he knows what he did to get the boy god here. He'd been rattling off long-forgotten pages full of names, hoping someone, or Someone, would hear and come to save his pack. And apparently one had.

He clears his throat. His pack is still panicking, and now they've got confusion over a little boy being in the burning house, too. Peter looks at the boy god and asks, "What can we do?"

"What's with the tunnel?"

"It's blocked," Talia says. "Who are you?"

The boy-god smiles. "You can call me Stiles," he says, and Peter knows that's not at all his name. He didn't invoke any beings with that name. "Peter called me in to help."

"You know my name?" Peter asks. Blurts, more like.

Stiles gives him a mischievous smile that makes Peter feel like he's in on a marvelous joke. "Let's answer questions later, once we're away from the whole certain death plot."

Talia looks as if she wants to shake him, but nods instead. "This was a passage into the woods, for emergencies, but it's been blocked off from the outside."

Stiles peers at the blocked passage, squinting his eyes as though he can see straight through it. Maybe he can. "My powers are low right now. There's not a lot I can do." Then he turns back to Peter. "Maybe you can help me."

"How?" Peter asks.

Stiles pulls him to the side, his smaller hand in Peter's. "I can maybe get to the other side if I phase out and back on the other side. I just haven't done that in a while, and I need a boost."

"I'll do whatever you need," Peter says, and adds, "Given that you don't ask me to murder any of my family or myself in sacrifice."

Stiles frowns. "I've never once demanded those kinds of sacrifices. People got overzealous sometimes for my family, but if they ever tried that shit with me, I always shut it down."

A scrap of memory of a long-ago story hits Peter then, and he softly whispers the god-name attached to the story. He knows he's right when Stiles's eyes widen and he nods. 

"That's me. But please, call me Stiles. Or Mischief, if you must."

So Stiles is a trickster god from a long-abandoned, mostly forgotten religion. Peter is both thrilled and wary. Tricksters aren't always known for helping when they are called on. Sometimes they're more like the djinn, twisting words and desires back on people who pray greedily. 

"Don't worry," Stiles says, seeming to read Peter's mind. "I'm not here to trick you. I'll probably have fun with the people who tried to kill you, but you don't have to worry about yourself or your pack."

"How do we get out?" Peter says.

"We're running out of time," Talia reminds them. Above them, more of the structure falls in on itself, engulfed by flame.

"I need more than one believer, more than one supplicant," Stiles tells Peter.

"I'm sure the rest of the pack will… believe," Peter says awkwardly. "Do you need more prayer?"

Stiles shakes his head. "A priest. An avatar. Someone connected closely to me. Someone I can rely on."

"I'll do it," Peter says as something above them splits open and crashes, and the roar of the fire bears down on them. It's incredibly hot and oppressive, and the smoke is thick now.

"Kneel to me," Stiles says solemnly. The noise stops when Peter's knees hit the floor. Even time seems to stop, or at least slow. Somehow Peter knows no one else will see or hear what's about to happen. Stiles places a hand on Peter's head. "You are mine."

Peter's inner wolf is confused. Frightened. Don't they belong to Talia?

"This is above the pack, above family," Stiles says slowly. "Beyond life and death. You will be my priest, and I will be your god. Earthly shrines and sacrifices don't matter - your body is my temple. Your submission is a sacrifice to me. We're connected now, power to power, weakness to weakness. As you kneel to me, I revere what you give." And then he speaks in a language Peter has never heard, yet he understands every syllable. When Stiles kisses Peter's forehead, signifying the end of the hasty ritual, Peter feels an influx of strength he knows comes from their bond. 

Time crashes back into them, and Stiles grins. "Let's get out of here." He grabs onto Peter's hand again and leads him right up to the blocked passageway, and then they walk hand in hand right through the wall.

The blockage is easy to remove, and they get everything out of the way quickly. It goes even faster with Peter's enhanced strength and speed. He was strong before, and fast, but this now goes beyond werewolf abilities and into (dare he think it) the realm of demigod status. 

Once they are outside, they see everyone else is safe. No one is even burned by anything that won't heal within a day or so. The smoke is a pain, makes it hard to breathe, but even the humans of the pack seem safe and well. 

And on the front lawn, a fire truck is setting up, spraying the house, but it's too late. There's no going back; it's toast.

* * *

More sirens are coming closer. Someone must have called 911. They're a little late, but the fire department has the fire under control now, though there's no saving the house. At least Stiles was sure to save everyone inside.

"What is going on here?" a loud, authoritative (and familiar) voice asks. Stiles turns to see his dad standing in the middle of the clearing. He's still wearing his civvies. "Stiles, what are you doing here? Are you hurt? You're covered in… You went _in_?"

Stiles realizes he must look a fright, covered in ash and soot as he is, but he's quick to reassure his dad he's okay.

"Deputy Stilinski?" one of the werewolves, the alpha, asks. "Is this… do you know this little boy?" The way her voice wavers over the words makes it absolutely clear to Stiles that she knows Stiles is anything but a little boy.

Stiles's dad kneels in front of him, looking him over. He checks his skin, maybe looking for burns. He'll find none. Stiles would have healed already if the flames licked his skin. He's high on power at the moment, though he's attempting to conceal how thrilling it is, but any injury would have healed immediately.

"Why did you run out like that?" his father asks. "You were so fast, and I couldn't keep up. How did you know?"

Stiles blinks at him. "I just did." He looks at the pack, who are all listening intently. "I knew. But I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Explain what happened. Start at the beginning," his dad says, but Stiles doesn't want to do that at all.

He yawns. "I'm so tired, Dad. Can we go home?"

Stiles can feel Peter's reluctance to be parted from him. To be honest, Stiles feels the same way. He hasn't had a priest in too long. He doesn't remember their bond being this intense, but then, he'd always had several at a time, and the power was more evenly distributed. With Peter, it's much different. 

"You're going to a hospital, kiddo," his dad says. "You probably inhaled a lot of smoke. I'm surprised you can't feel it."

"I'm fine," Stiles says. 

"Are you a doctor?" his dad asks. "I want someone to check you over, run tests. I've seen plenty of firefighters get smoke inhalation, and they don't have lungs that are still growing."

Stiles sighs loudly and gives a weak cough. His lungs are fine, but he guesses it makes more sense than coming out of this completely unscathed. "As long as everyone else gets checked out, too."

"Of course," his father says. He looks around at everyone. "I still don't know what's going on, but-"

"Arson," Stiles interjects. He can't mention the mountain ash, but… "The doors were blocked from the outside, too."

His father swears. He raises his voice to speak to everyone. "Everyone accounted for?"

"Where's Cora?" Talia asks, and suddenly everyone is talking at once, looking around with fear in their eyes. "Did she get out?"

Stiles knows Cora from school, but she's a year older than he is, and they aren't friends. Still, that makes her an eleven-year-old traumatized werewolf who is probably hiding in the woods somewhere if she got out. 

"I got her out a window when the fire started," Peter says, his voice flowing over Stiles's mind like a cool stream of clear water. Stiles automatically gravitates toward him, and once he's close, Peter reaches out to him. 

Stiles takes his hand. "I can help you look for her."

"You'll do no such thing," his dad says, eyeing Peter with a frown. "Hello. John Stilinski. You are?"

"Peter Hale," Peter says, holding a hand out to shake.

"I'm taking Stiles to the hospital. I can call out some more deputies to help search for the little girl. How old is she?"

Stiles closes his eyes and leans against Peter's side. It's past his bedtime, and he's done a lot today. He lets Peter and his dad talk without him, their conversation unimportant. He focuses on the woods around them, and in his mind, finds a thread of Peter's pack — somehow, he's able to access it by being bonded to Peter now. Cora is hiding beneath the roots of a large oak, and there's something special about the tree. It's growing over an intersection of telluric currents, and the tree itself seems almost sentient. Stiles opens his eyes again and looks at Peter.

"Cora's under the nemeton." It's a murmur so low only the werewolves will hear.

Peter's eyes widen, and he looks over at his alpha. She heard. She nods, and then she and her mate take off in that direction. 

"Don't worry about searching for her," Peter tells Stiles's dad. "We know where she probably is. It's a popular hiding spot for our kids. It makes sense she'd go there if she was scared."

Stiles's dad sighs deeply. "Okay. C'mon, kid. Let's get you to the hospital."

"Where will everyone stay tonight?" Stiles asks, thinking about the pack and wondering if they'll just sleep in the woods as wolves. He knows it's a thought brought on by his childlike imagination, but the question stands.

"Mom? Dad?" a voice calls. Stiles turns to see two teens get out of a car to look at the burned house in horror.

"We'll manage," Peter says. "There's a smaller house on the property we can stay in." He leans down and whispers into Stiles's ear, "I'll see you soon."

Then he walks away, over to his niece and nephew, it seems. Stiles feels the bond pull as he steps farther away, and he feels almost sick from it. He knows he can't keep his new priest at his side forever, but to be separated so soon seems almost cruel. He doesn't know if Peter feels the same way, but for Stiles, it's awful. Not painful, not yet, but definitely uncomfortable.

But he knows Peter has his own life, so Stiles lets him go.

For now.

An ambulance arrives at the scene, and John insists Stiles get some oxygen before they go to the hospital. It's heartwarming at the same time it is annoying.

Even worse, much worse, is the feeling that starts once Stiles gets to the hospital, as if someone is watching him. Someone powerful and familiar.

"I'll be right back," John tells him before stepping out of the room. He's going, presumably, to call Claudia.

Stiles waits until he's out of earshot, then whispers, "Who's there?" It's risky to let the being who's spying on him know he feels them, but he needs to know what he's up against.

She appears at the foot of his hospital bed, and he feels time stop outside his room. Her face is just as deceptively beautiful as the last time he saw her, and her eyes just as cruel.

"Hello, Mother," Stiles says flatly. 

For the moment, she is silent, looking him over, probably so she can find a weakness. Well, he has plenty.

Then, unaccountably, she smiles. "So you're alive, then?"

He swallows, not trusting her expression. "Looks like it."

Her smile turns to a sneer faster than lightning. "Is that all you have to say? I grieved for you. We all did. And yet here you are, hundreds and hundreds of years later, living your life as a _mortal_. For what purpose? Why did you leave us?"

Stiles looks at her blankly. How can she act as if she doesn't know? Every tic and quirk of her personality comes rushing back to his mind, and he sighs. "Oh, you're the victim here, I see."

"Don't take that tone with me," she hisses. "Your father hasn't spoken to me in centuries because of you. He blames me for your death, and here you are, alive and well!"

"What do you want from me?" Stiles asks warily. "We have no purpose; our followers are gone. There's no use going 'home.' Our stories, what little remain, only exist in rare books and filed away as myths and legends."

"And yet you took a priest today," the goddess says. Her eyes are thin slits of furious accusation. "So explain that."

"I can't," Stiles says helplessly. He doesn't want to drag Peter into this mess, though he's afraid it's too late for that. "Not really. I needed a boost, and he agreed."

"Just like that?"

"There were extenuating circumstances."

"Yes, I went to the house first, since your power was concentrated there."

"What were you doing, if you felt that? Just waiting around?"

"Meditating. Sending my essence into the world, searching for a scrap of-" She cuts herself off angrily, shaking her head. "And you pick up a priest without lifting a finger."

"He called me. I answered."

She doesn't look like she believes him. "How did he even know who you are?"

"I don't know." He hasn't had the chance to ask. "Maybe Peter's a scholar of the old ways."

"I saw him. He's not human."

Knowing she even so much as set her eyes on Peter makes a wave of possessive wrath well up inside Stiles's chest. "He's mine."

Now she looks darkly amused. "Yes, I can see that."

"Again, I hate to ask, but what do you want from me?" Stiles asks. "Why are you here?"

"I had to see my son again, didn't I? My precious dead son who's been lost to me for so long." Her words are completely at odds with her vicious tone.

Stiles shifts uncomfortably. "Mother…"

"I want you to come home. Talk to your father. Show him you aren't dead, at least."

"I'm sure he knows now, just like you knew."

"He's been sleeping deeply," she says bitterly. "I doubt even your sudden power surge woke him."

"I have a life here," Stiles tells her. It's a weak excuse in the face of her utter contempt for the mortals who abandoned them, though. At least, that's her view.

Sure enough, she looks disgusted by his explanation. "You're living as a young mortal. What kind of life could you possibly have?"

"A happy one," he snaps. "Infinitely better than my life in our 'family.'"

Her eyes narrow again. Millenia ago, she had the power to bend him to her will. She's much less than she was then. Her god magic is stronger than his, but nothing like what it once was. He knows she's thinking of the same thing. 

"I can see I can't persuade you right now," she finally admits. "But I'll be watching. You'll come around."

The threat is implicit, but Stiles is tired, hungry, and as cranky as a ten-year-old up way past his bedtime. "Just go, Mother."

As she fades from sight and the bustle outside his hospital room resumes, Stiles lets out a relieved breath. Nothing is left destroyed or smoking, and he's unhurt. Maybe her temperament has changed for the better.

He checks along his bond, making sure his priest is well. It's against the rules of their pantheon to hurt another god's priest, but he's pretty sure he threw out the rules when he faked his own death and went into hiding amongst the mortals.

Peter's fine, moving closer, traveling fast, maybe in a car. Stiles focuses harder and realizes he's coming to the hospital. One of the human pack members inhaled too much smoke after all, and has a burn on her arm. 

Stiles's concentration is broken when John Stilinski enters the room with a doctor. They check Stiles over, make sure his oxygen levels are normal, and talk over his head about whether he should stay in the hospital overnight.

"I'm fine. I want to go home," Stiles whines, because it's expected. "Where's Mom?"

"I called her, she'll be here soon," John assures him.

Claudia and Peter arrive at nearly the same time. Stiles feels one but not the other, so he's surprised when his mom comes to the door and moves swiftly to his bedside. 

"Baby, how are you feeling?" she asks.

Stiles smiles at her. The differences between her and his goddess 'mother' are stark. "I'm just tired."

"Well, you would be, running all that way and into a burning house!" Claudia says. "What were you thinking? You could have- I-"

"I'm okay now," Stiles assures her.

"Your dad said you saved that whole family," she says quietly. Her eyes shine. "I'm so proud of you. Terrified about what you did, but so proud."

He wraps his arms around her neck and hugs her. Her hair smells like lavender and lemon — home. "I love you," he tells her, and means it from the bottom of his soul, expansively. She's a good woman and an excellent mother. She's everything he always wished for, and though he's had a lot of human mothers over the centuries, she's unique. Almost like she's magic. He thinks he could probably tell her he's a god, and she'd take it in stride while reminding him to tie his shoes before running and to take a sweater out on a chilly day.

She pulls back and gives him a fond smile. "I love you too, sweetie."

* * *

Peter holds his breath when Stiles enters the hospital room.

For all to see who do not see, Stiles looks just a few years older than the child in the hospital bed. Peter's niece, Maddie, is human. She can't see with a wolf's eyes, can't see Stiles's blazing aura. 

To Peter, Stiles is even more than his aura, but… he is a god. Peter knows he is not omniscient, or anything others think of when they call on their own gods, but there is certainly something divine about him, especially now that Peter knows who he is.

_What_ he is.

Stiles passes by him, reaching out to touch his small hand to Peter's. It's probably supposed to be a reassurance, but it throws such a thrill down Peter's spine that he temporarily loses his ability to breathe normally.

But Stiles's focus is not on him, so, fortunately, he doesn't notice this temporary yet almost embarrassing thing. Stiles looks at Maddie, and she looks back curiously.

Maddie has a cannula — a tube — running under her nose and in her nostrils so she can breathe in the oxygen she needs. She didn't even put up a fuss when the nurse put it on her, proving to everyone just how bad she felt.

She coughs, and Stiles nods like he knows what it means. "Can I sit on your bed?" he asks.

Maddie looks at Peter, who she knows will protect her.

Peter smiles reassuringly. "This is Stiles; he's my… friend. He won't hurt you."

"You saved-" Maddie says, cutting herself off with a cough. 

"Remember what the doctor said," Peter says calmly, though he's worried. The doctor said she might have inhaled toxins in the smoke, and that he needs to watch her in the hospital for some time while she receives treatment. Peter looks at Stiles, who is biting his lower lip now and looking even more like a child.

Maddie nods. She pats the side of her bed, and Stiles sits down.

"I got your family out of the fire, yes," Stiles says. He sighs and looks at Peter. "I can't heal her."

Peter thought as much. Stiles isn't a god of healing or medicine, but of chaos. 

Stiles turns back to Maddie. "Can I tell you a story?"

Maddie smiles. Peter leans back against the wall and lets Stiles's words flow over him, basking in his god's presence. He learns more about him in the next half hour than he ever did in a book. 

Stiles tells Maddie a story about fire, about how it can help as well as hurt, how there are two sides to destruction. He tells her about controlled fires that help the environment, about using fire to fight a fire, even about certain kinds of smoke that can be useful and not just the kind that makes you ill.

Maddie is sleeping by the time he's done talking, but there's a smile on her face, and she's relaxed, no longer plagued by the nightmare of the day.

"Thank you," Peter whispers to him.

"I wish I could do more," Stiles says. 

Peter hears Talia outside and opens the door a crack. "She's sleeping," he tells his sister. 

She nods and slips silently into the room. She's surprised to see Stiles there, but she quickly gets over it and gives him an awkwardly low nod. Peter can tell she still doesn't know how to treat him.

"I was just leaving. I'm supposed to be in bed," Stiles says with half a smile. 

"I'll walk you back," Peter says quickly.

Stiles takes his hand, and Peter's heartbeat quickens. He wonders if he'll ever get over the pure excitement it gives him to hold his god's hand. A touch alone feels like a precious bestowment of grace. He has his god's favor. He's been made a priest. 

He doesn't know exactly what it means, but he knows it's a special thing. 

Stiles walks into an alcove Peter never knew was there and frowns. Stiles does something, pulls an invisible curtain, and they are alone while others bustle by.

"If you want to resign as my priest, I'll understand. It was a hasty decision in a situation where you had little choice," Stiles says, and Peter's stomach drops.

"Do you… do you want me to resign?" he asks. Maybe he's not good enough to be a priest. If there's a moral component to the office, perhaps he doesn't fit the role. 

Stiles watches him as his mind throws insecurities his way, but Peter isn't insecure, normally. He doesn't know where the feelings are coming from. He looks at Stiles and then slowly sinks to the floor on his knees, as he did in the smoky basement.

"I want this, whatever it is," Peter says. "I don't know what it means or what it might entail. I don't care; I want it anyway."

"Very reckless of you," Stiles says, but from his smile, it appears he approves. He reaches out and puts a hand on Peter's head. He doesn't say anything more, but it feels like an icy-hot blessing running through Peter's body.

"I'll learn," Peter says. "Everything you need me to be. I'll do it. You-"

"Is this because I saved your pack?"

Peter tilts his head, and Stiles slides his hand down to cup the side of Peter's face as he thinks. Peter leans in, chasing the feeling of acceptance and belonging. He always thought he got that in his pack and from his sister, but that bond pales in comparison to what he's feeling now. 

"No, not just that," Peter says once he's found his voice. "But I can't put the rest into words."

"Okay," Stiles says simply. "Now get up. You can't kneel on such a hard floor for too long."

Peter is reluctant to leave his submissive pose, but he can't think about the reasons for that right now.

Stiles smiles once Peter's back on his feet. "So you'll remain my priest. That's good, that keeps you safe."

"Safe?"

"I had a visit from another… of my family. My god-family, I mean. She wasn't happy, but she can't get to me through you, at least."

"So I take it you aren't on good terms?"

Stiles sighs and gives him a lopsided smile Peter's coming to love. "That would be an understatement."

Peter walks Stiles back to his hospital room and looks around. There's a game system and other toys just like there are in Maddie's room. It's odd to think of Stiles being treated just as another child since he really, really isn't.

"What do we do next?" Peter asks. 

"We need to find out who tried to kill your pack," Stiles says, hopping into the bed. "But I don't know where to start. My dad should be on it, but of course he won't tell me anything about it."

Peter tilts his head. "I have my own resources."

Stiles nods. "I figured you did. You have to be clever to be one of mine."

It's not a compliment exactly, but Peter still feels warm over the words. "Can you tell me what I should be doing… for you? As your priest?"

"It's been so long," Stiles says. He adjusts the bed so the head comes up and he can lean back comfortably against some pillows. "A lot of the priest's duties don't apply."

"Why not?"

"You don't have a gaggle of my followers to corral or rituals to lead. Though if you go through with the rituals alone, that will make us both stronger. Once, there was a spiritual journey a person would go on that would lead them to their calling, but we're skipping that and going straight to… I don't know what you could call it. Ordination, I guess, though our religion is nothing like the dominant religions of today."

Peter pulls a chair closer and sits beside Stiles, entirely focused. "Tell me everything."

Stiles smiles and reaches out for Peter's hand. "I'd show you, but my power is weak. Words will have to do."

"What do you mean, show me?" Peter wants to know. He wants to know everything, like why it gives him such a visceral thrill when Stiles touches him.

"Through illusion, or visions. I used to be quite good at them. I still would be, I bet. But my power needs to build up again. It'll never be what it once was, not with a dead religion, but I do have a slight advantage over my god-family. The rest of the pantheon molded their power almost exclusively so that they need believers. I realized early on that the people who are drawn to my domain, my specialties, are more likely to be independent. So I draw a weaker power, but from more people. People like you, who like clever games and who aren't afraid to cause a little chaos in order to win. People who like to shake things up a little, who say or do things differently just to get a reaction, even."

"So, you don't need worshippers?" Peter asks.

"Well, I mean, it would be nice. But no, my people causing mostly-innocent trouble is enough to keep me going. And now I have a priest, which is a great gift."

"How do we bring your power back?" 

Stiles looks past him as if looking into a great distance. "First, I've got to use it, push it. Which I don't feel too comfortable doing since it'll leave me tired and vulnerable."

Peter dares to squeeze Stiles's hand. "I'll protect you."

"Hmm. Having a werewolf priest does have its benefits," Stiles muses.

"What else?" Peter asks.

"Nothing we can do right now," Stiles says. "Hospitality and gift exchanges later, though. Getting to know each other and growing our relationship."

Peter nods. This is similar to other religions he's studied.

"Where is your pack staying?" Stiles asks.

"In a smaller home on our property, the one I mentioned. It's cramped, but after almost losing everyone, we are closer than usual anyway. We need to be near each other right now. We can't wait to get Maddie back home with us."

"Soon," Stiles reassures him. His thumb rubs over Peter's knuckles. "Do you want to leave now, to be with them?"

Peter's torn between wanting to be with his pack and needing to be in his god's presence.

"I'll visit once I'm out of the hospital," Stiles promises.

"Will you be allowed?" Peter asks, feeling awkward about the fact that Stiles has 'parents' who dare to tell him what to do. 

"I can always sneak out," Stiles says with a cheerful smile. "Don't worry about that. Go on so you can be with your pack."

"I'll see you soon," Peter promises.

* * *

Stiles feels stronger than he has in years. Hundreds of years. The spiritual bond he shares with Peter now feels like a lifeline, keeping him from drowning when he didn't even realize he was in the water. Now he's saved, and the world is brimming with possibilities again. 

After being cleared by the doctor and getting out of the hospital, Stiles goes back to school. Cora is there, and she immediately starts sticking to his side as a new friend. Stiles's best friend Scott is jealous at first, but Stiles is quick to reassure him. More friends meant less bullying from the other kids for being weird, and when Jackson did dare to shove him out of the way in the hall, Cora was right there shoving him back. 

But she doesn't treat him like she knows what he is, so Stiles thinks the adults in the Hale pack are keeping the 'god' thing under wraps. Stiles finds he prefers it this way because he'd rather have Cora as a friend at school than, well, whatever she'd be if she knew he was practically immortal. She clearly knows he's _something_ , but she doesn't ask what. Growing up in a pack must teach a kid about privacy, too. 

His new friendship with Cora is the perfect cover for going to her house after school, too. Again, Scott is jealous, but an afternoon playing video games together eases his mind. Stiles doesn't blame him for the clingy behavior. Scott's parents' divorce is still fresh, and the kid has abandonment issues. 

Peter is thrilled when Stiles shows up at the house the pack is living in; even if Peter's joy wasn't apparent on his face, Stiles would be able to feel it through their growing bond. Stiles formally meets everyone for the first time, and Talia welcomes him in with painstaking hospitality. Peter must have drilled her on the subject, and the result is a power boost Stiles is grateful for. He walks around the house, whispering magic into the walls, a gift for a gift. 

"What are you doing?" Peter asks.

"Warding the house," Stiles says.

"Won't that tire you?" Peter asks.

Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter's worried face. "I'm surrounded by werewolves. I think I'm safe."

"You know, a lot of people would think that sentence is ridiculous," Peter says.

"Like hunters?" Stiles asks. "Their opinions are worth less than dirt."

"But their hatred is strong enough to kill."

"Stiles!" Maddie exclaims, and crashes into him with a hug that would bowl over a lesser being. 

"I see you're feeling better," Stiles tells her.

She nods her head hard, dark pigtails flapping. "I got new toys, wanna see? I even got a magic set, and I can make a ball disappear under cups, and there are cards and-"

"Maddie, maybe now isn't-" Peter tries to say, but Stiles is grinning.

"Can you give me a few more minutes?" Stiles says. "I love tricks. I can't wait to see, but not yet."

"Okay, I'll be in the kitchen!" Maddie says, then runs off happily.

"She's doing well?" Stiles asks Peter. 

"There are some side effects," Peter says. "She has to use a nebulizer twice a day while her lungs return to normal. We think it's temporary, and having wolf blood is helpful even though she's human, but…" He shrugs, but Stiles can feel his worry.

It's almost inconceivable that someone would want to hurt her, but Stiles has seen a lot in his long life. He knows what hatred and intolerance do. 

Stiles nods and finishes warding the house as best he can. By the time he's done, though, he's swaying on his feet.

Peter catches him when he stumbles and almost falls over. "Whoa, let's go sit down."

"Kitchen," Stiles says.

"What's wrong?" Talia asks when she sees him. She's sitting at the table with Maddie and a morose-looking Derek, a playing card in her hand.

Stiles waves off her question and looks at Maddie. "Nothing a little magic won't cure. Will you show me?"

Maddie nods and plucks the card from her mother's fingers. She looks at it, and her face falls. "Oh, I didn't have it." Then she shuffles the cards poorly, but with great concentration.

Stiles looks over at Derek and tilts his head. "How are you?"

"Fine," Derek says, looking anything but. Stiles would put it down to being a moody teenager, but Derek's aura says something else. Stiles looks closer. It's hard because he's feeling weak and Derek's hiding whatever it is he's upset about.

But now Stiles is curious, so he taps into his bond with Peter and, by extension, Peter's pack bond with Derek. Peter feels it happening but says nothing; he just gives Stiles a raised eyebrow.

Stiles doesn't explain, but he leans back against Peter for support. Maddie shows Stiles a magic trick and is disappointed when she gets it wrong again. It's easy to keep his focus on Derek's feelings since Stiles could do the trick in his sleep. 

"Let me see," he says to Maddie, and shuffles the cards in the showiest way he can, just to see her eyes shine with happy fascination. "Derek, you need to talk about why you feel so guilty and heartbroken."

Stiles continues to shuffle and flourish the cards for Maddie's benefit, acting calm, as if he said nothing to Derek. Maddie and Peter follow his lead, though Talia frowns.

"What does he mean?" she asks.

Derek is trying not to cry and doing an admirable job. It's hard for him to get the words out, though. "I'm so sorry," he says, choking on the words. "She… she said…"

Because the house is small, and because his family consists mostly of werewolves, Derek's every word is heard as the story spills out of him. Peter gets very upset as soon as he pieces together what Derek _isn't_ saying. His claws come out, and he begins to growl.

Stiles wraps his arms around him, heedless of the danger, and whispers calming words in his ear.

"I'm sorry," Derek is still saying, and once Peter has collected himself again, they turn as one toward the teen and join Talia in telling him it is clearly _not_ his fault, that he was deceived and preyed upon, and that they will make sure the woman who did so is dealt with violently.

But Stiles can see something else beyond the guilt, and he slips away from Peter to approach Derek. The teenager is hurt, grieving, and not just because he was tricked. 

Stiles lets time slow and erects a veil to muffle sound. "It's not right, what happened, and saying it's okay now won't make you feel better," he says. Derek hides his face in his hands, but Stiles moves closer and pulls them down so he can see Derek's eyes. "I know you feel twisted up inside, and that you can't make sense of it. It's okay to feel like that."

Derek averts his eyes and shakes his head. "I should have known not to… not to…"

"What, love her?" Stiles asks. Derek quickly looks around, but Stiles reassures him. "No one else can hear us right now."

"It wasn't love," Derek chokes out.

"Everything she did to you was wrong, but that doesn't mean what you felt wasn't real. Or what you still feel," Stiles says.

"I shouldn't," Derek says.

"Feelings don't switch off like a light," Stiles tells him gently. 

"I should want her dead, but I just… I…"

"You're a good person," Stiles tells him. "You want the rest of the world to be good, too."

"Maybe I deserve this," Derek says suddenly. "I killed my first girlfriend. Maybe this is punishment for that." Stiles wants the story behind that but now isn't the time.

"Would that make you feel better?" Stiles asks. "Punishment?"

"...No," Derek says after a moment. "Probably not."

He's so sweet, so vulnerable. Stiles can read that from him even without Peter's help, and he's sure the woman who preyed on him could, too. He was easy pickings for a manipulative monster. Stiles wishes he could help more, but what Derek really needs is time. That, and the love and understanding of his pack.

"How do you know so much?" Derek asks. "What are you?"

"I'm just very, very old," Stiles answers. "I can't hold us suspended for much longer, though. You should talk to your family. Enjoy them. Don't distance yourself just because you're hurting. I know that'll be hard, but you can do it."

Derek nods.

Stiles gives him a smile. "Play with Maddie. I'll probably need a nap now."

He lets everything return to normal, then slumps against Peter and falls asleep.

* * *

Within a week, the Beacon County Sheriff has a suspect. It would have been sooner, but someone within the department — a deputy on the job for about two years — was bribed. Stiles's father figured it out, running on a hunch, and now John's up for a promotion. Stiles and Claudia are proud.

Peter doesn't see much of Stiles in that time, so when he's not spending time with his pack, he researches. Diving deeply into old religions isn't something he'd normally find time to do, but he's motivated. Becoming a pagan priest isn't something he ever imagined for his life, and yet here he is.

He contacts a friend from Stanford who didn't know about the supernatural, at least not about werewolves, but who was very into paganism when he last spoke to her. He sends her a few vague questions, and she answers him back in less than a day with a long, excited email full of stuff he'd normally scoff at.

_Being noticed by a god is a blessing,_ she tells him. _It's rewarding, and I'm so happy for you!_

It's true; it has been rewarding. Everything has fallen together perfectly, and his entire pack is alive because he'd somehow found the right name to invoke. 

_What can I do to show him how much I appreciate his favor?_ Peter asks her.

The next email takes longer to appear in his inbox, but when it does, it's full of suggestions and links and book recommendations. It all boils down to one thing, though: worship him.

Peter is more than happy to do so. His entire worldview has been thrown upside down, but he's always been resilient and quick-thinking. He can adapt.

Plus, he's more than just beholden to Stiles for saving them. He's completely fascinated by the boy-god, and humbly grateful that he's Stiles's priest, and that humility isn't something he's used to. The old Peter might say something like, 'Of course a god chose me, I'm amazing,' but something in Peter has changed. Maybe it's the new bond, or maybe it's the responsibility he feels after having agreed to become a priest of an ancient religion no one else has ever heard of before. A priest to a deity he's actually met, who crawls into his lap when Peter's growling and ready to commit violence. 

His god may be small, may be 'minor,' but to Peter, he's becoming everything.

_You're one of mine_ , Stiles told him, and the warmth that gave Peter is comparable to a wildfire. And what had Stiles said about fire? That it raged and destroyed, but brought new growth in the aftermath? That's how Peter feels. 

He types down these disjointed thoughts and sends them to his friend. He has a feeling she might relate.

* * *

It starts a few weeks later. After school, it's Melissa who asks if she can give Stiles a ride. He's been waiting with Scott, and Mrs. McCall is late. He doesn't mind waiting with Scott, especially since his own mother's late today, too.

"Must be a mom thing," Stiles jokes.

Melissa's been late a few times lately as she struggles with suddenly being a single mom, and Stiles has tried to keep Scott's mind off it. But Claudia doesn't have the same excuse, so Stiles doesn't know why _she's_ late.

After he waves Scott and Melissa off and is left by the curb by himself, Stiles frowns. He walks back into the nearly empty school and borrows a phone at the office to call his mom. He doesn't get an answer, and his dad's been busy at work with his new promotion, so Stiles calls Peter next.

Peter seems happy to spend time with him, even if it's only for a drive. He asks him about school. Says, "I'd offer you a snack, but I just got the car detailed. Want to stop at the cafe and get a milkshake?"

Stiles smiles. "Raincheck. Mom usually has a snack for me when I get home."

"We could bring her one too," Peter suggests, so they do stop at the diner and get three milkshakes to go. Peter makes a face when Stiles's order is a Neapolitan milkshake in three flavors. "I've never heard of that before. Sounds chaotic."

"Exactly," Stiles says with a grin.

Peter drives to Stiles's house, and Stiles invites him to talk to Claudia. They haven't had a chance to talk much yet, and Stiles wants them to get along.

But when Peter and Stiles find Claudia, she's sitting in the living room, frowning at the television. 

"Mom?" Stiles says. "Hey. Are you okay? You didn't pick me up."

Claudia turns her head to him with a blank expression. If Stiles didn't know better, he'd say there was no recognition on her face whatsoever.

"Mom?" Stiles asks.

She blinks. "What?"

Stiles frowns and walks closer. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She looks from him to Peter, then at the clock. "Oh. Oh, shit, I forgot."

"Language," Stiles says, falling back on teasing to ease his worry.

"I'm sorry, Mischief. I was just watching TV, and I guess the time got away from me?" She sounds unsure, though.

"It's okay," Stiles says. "I called Peter. Look what we got you." He offers a melting milkshake. "It's strawberry."

"My favorite," Claudia says, sounding more like herself. "I suppose you got a conglomeration."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "It's called Neapolitan."

Claudia looks fond. "If you say so. Hello, Peter. I've heard a lot about you lately."

Peter holds out his hand, and she shakes it, a warm smile on her face. Stiles is relieved. John isn't sure what to think of Peter or his son's friendship with him, but Claudia seems calm about it. 

"Thank you for going to get him when he called," Claudia says. "I hate to think of him trying to walk home."

"I wouldn't do that," Stiles says. "Hitchhiking with strangers is obviously the way to go."

Claudia rolls her eyes at the joke. He knows better than that, and she knows it.

"So, what were you watching that was so interesting?" Stiles asks, looking at the screen. The actors aren't familiar.

Claudia glances at the TV and frowns. "I don't remember. It must have been good, though."

It sounds odd to Stiles, and when he catches Peter's eyes, he sees his priest is frowning, too. 

Unfortunately, that day isn't an isolated incident. Stiles has to call Peter or get a ride from Melissa a few more times over the next several weeks. If it was only that, he might put it down to absentmindedness, but then Claudia starts to forget other things, too.

It's just small things at first, like how to make her famous lasagne or potato pancakes without a recipe. Stiles only barely picks up on these because she finds the recipes and cooks from those. It's only after, when he's adding things up in his head, that it becomes important.

There must be other signs Stiles doesn't see, but that John does pick up on, since he has a few incidents to add to the list once they put their heads together.

John suggests Claudia get a doctor's appointment. She laughs him off. But then one night at dinner (that Stiles and John made, since Claudia wasn't feeling well), everything changes.

"Who are you?" Claudia says harshly, staring at Stiles as if he's a stranger. To her, maybe he is. " _What_ are you?"

"Mom?" Stiles says carefully. "You don't remember?" He's looking across the dinner table at his mom, but she seems so different. 

John doesn't move until Claudia picks up a steak knife from the table. He puts his hand around her wrist and she struggles.

"Kill it!" Claudia says, and Stiles gets out of his chair. He wants to approach her, but she's looking murderous. His instincts tell him to run. 

"Get out of here," John says to him, and Stiles hesitates.

"Kill the monster!" Claudia says, and breaks free of John to lunge across the table at Stiles.

"Stiles, go!" John orders, trying to hold Claudia.

Stiles runs out the door, toward the forest, feet swift as a bird's wings.

* * *

Cinnamon sticks and incense, a Joker card from an old deck (not Maddie's), a bright red poppy, a Batman action figure. Peter's never had an altar before, but he thinks Stiles will be pleased at the setup. He even sets out some banana Laffy Taffy as an offering, Stiles's favorite.

Is it weird to put out an offering for a god you see on an almost daily basis? No one knows. No one has had these kinds of interactions with their deities in recorded history, at least not that Peter has found.

No one has a bond with their god, either, and Peter can feel Stiles's emotions, especially when he's close. Like now, he's upset, and running double quick through the woods. Peter thinks to meet him outside, but only makes it to the door. Stiles has gotten faster.

There's a soft knock, and then the little god throws himself into Peter's arms.

"Stiles, what's the matter?" Peter asks. He's adrift, unmoored, and completely bewildered. What do you do with a crying god? He knows how to handle a child, but Stiles isn't one.

Haltingly, Stiles tells him what's wrong. Talia hears, and goes straight to the phone, leaving Peter to comfort Stiles.

"The thing that scares me the most… it's... it's not magic. I would have sensed it," Stiles says. "It's something else, something I can't stop."

On the phone, Talia and John speak shortly, and they agree Stiles will stay with the Hales for the night while John takes Claudia to the hospital.

"She's my _mom_ ," Stiles says, and Peter can feel his confusion and sorrow. The little god's heart is breaking, and Peter can only hold him and rub his back as he cries into his shoulder.

* * *

Stiles has lost a lot of people over the years, but standing at Claudia's graveside on his eleventh birthday while the officiant (who never met her) talks about the Christian god's grace and mercy is particularly painful.

Claudia's family, some she hadn't even talked to since she married, crawled out of the woodwork for the funeral, and everyone wants to talk to the grieving little boy with the funny name.

Thankfully, they leave. Stiles isn't sure if he does it himself, if the aura he's putting off clearly states 'go away', or if they just know, but eventually it's just John, Peter, Talia, and Stiles left alone as thunder threatens overhead. It didn't rain for the service, but now it might.

It's fitting.

"C'mon, let's go before it rains," Stiles tells his father. 

John hasn't spoken much since Claudia died, and Stiles didn't even get a chance to tell her goodbye before she-

(He only saw her once after John tearfully admitted her to Eichen House.)

They said it was an accident, but Stiles thinks she'd been hoarding the pills they gave her. She was smart enough. She knew enough of what was happening to her to plan to go on her own terms. He's not sure if he's angry about it or relieved that she-

"Stiles," Talia says, and he looks up. John has already walked away. Is he supposed to go with his father, or…?

"You can stay with us tonight," Peter tells him. 

Stiles shakes his head and turns away. He follows his father out of the cemetery and doesn't look back. He passes a man with a backhoe on the way out, knowing he'll fill in the grave and they don't like to do it with family looking on. Not that it matters to Stiles. He knows his mom is gone.

"Stiles!" Peter calls after him. 

Stiles only lifts his hand. He'll see his priest later. For now, he just needs his dad.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like John really wants to deal with Stiles right now. Stiles thought together they could ease each other's grief, somehow. Share it. But when they get home, John goes to the liquor cabinet.

Stiles goes upstairs when he sees that. He knows different people have different ways of dealing with death and loss. Maybe this is John's way.

Stiles goes into his parents' room and stands there for a moment. There are a few dresses on the bed. John must have left them there while deciding what to dress Claudia in for her burial. He hasn't been sleeping in the bed, Stiles knows. John's been on the couch every night.

Stiles sits at his mom's dressing table and looks into the mirror. He knows he's more than what he sees, but what did Claudia see? The last time he visited her, she lunged at him, screaming incomprehensibly, and John escorted him away quickly. Maybe she was sick, the way the doctors said, but maybe she was just seeing clearly. Maybe she knew what he was. Is.

There are bottles of perfume on the table. He doesn't need to pick one up to smell them. 

"You were too attached to the mortal," a voice says. He whips his head around and sees her standing there, his goddess mother.

She looks coldly beautiful and unaffected by his grief. In fact, she looks smug.

Stiles wipes tears from his eyes. "What do you want now?"

"I've already told you this. Come back and speak to your father," she says. "Help me wake him. Let him see you're alive, and that I didn't kill you."

"I'm a little busy," Stiles says flatly.

Somewhere downstairs, a bottle breaks and his dad yells.

The goddess smiles. "If you don't come with me, I'll make you an orphan. It was easy enough to fiddle with the woman's brain. I can do the same to him."

Stiles turns to face her fully, heart hammering. " _You_ -"

"Me," she says simply.

It's too late for him to beg her to undo it. Claudia is dead; there's no going back. But he can still save his dad. He has to, he can't lose John, too. No way.

"I'll come," Stiles says. He can barely speak as fear for his father creeps into him. "Give me… give me a day. One day and I'll come."

She doesn't look pleased that he's making her wait, but she nods. "One day." Then she leaves the room, though he doesn't hear her footsteps outside. He knows she's gone.

He sits on the edge of the bed and breathes for a moment. Tears fall down his face but he ignores them. He can't think about Claudia. He has to focus if he's going to save John. Has she already cursed him, changed him, the way she did to Claudia? Or-

He goes downstairs to check. He doesn't feel or sense any magic coming from his dad, but then, he didn't notice anything off about Claudia, either. It must have been a quick tweak, something the bitch goddess did to set everything off, something so simple he wouldn't be able to tell. 

"Stiles," his dad says when he sees him. There's glass everywhere and his father's hand is bleeding.

"Sit down," Stiles tells him. "Go sit in your chair and I'll clean it up."

"She's gone," John says. 

"I know," Stiles says gently. "Please sit down."

If Stiles tells him he's leaving, he won't understand. He probably won't remember this conversation tomorrow, anyway. Stiles will have to tell Peter to tell him, and then… hope. Hope his dad doesn't take it too badly, when Stiles has no idea how long he will be gone. 

John finally sits down heavily in his chair, a water bottle by his side. Plastic.

He passes out there, and once Stiles finishes with the glass, he writes a quick note and then heads to the woods.

He thinks as he walks slowly through the woods. If he was stronger, he could beat the goddess, he would _kill_ her for what she's done. But he knows the rest of the pantheon, what's left of them, wouldn't let him get away with it. A goddess's life is much more valuable to them than a mortal. Mortals die every day, no matter how wonderful or kind they are.

Peter meets him in the woods. He must have felt him coming, and Stiles wasn't moving swiftly this time.

* * *

Peter feels Stiles moving toward him and knows the boy god doesn't want others to see him in his grief, not when he can help it. So Peter goes into the woods and starts walking toward the feeling from the bond. 

Stiles is rightly devastated by his mother's death, but there's something else there, too: rage. Stiles feels like a building storm, and Peter's not an expert, but he knows that can't be good, coming from a god.

They meet in the nemeton's clearing by accident or design, Peter's not sure. But when he sees Stiles's face he hesitates to go to him immediately. Stiles doesn't look like himself. He seems even bigger than he is, eleven years old and thousands at once. His aura is blazing around him, and if Peter hadn't quickly gotten over his fear of fire, he'd be afraid because that aura is licking around Stiles like it wants to devour things in its conflagration.

"Stiles?" Peter calls, and Stiles's face crumples down into something a little more human, a little less scary. Peter's still fully aware of the situation, though, and he approaches his god just to kneel to him. Partly to get on Stiles's level and partly to show that he's there for him, as priest or friend or anything he needs.

Stiles is warm when he wraps his arms around Peter's shoulders. 

"What can I do?" Peter asks. 

Stiles doesn't answer, just holds on tighter. Peter can smell the salt from his tears, but he's not sobbing this time. Just holding onto Peter as if he's all he has.

"Okay," Peter tells him. "It's going to be okay."

Finally, after what feels like hours and yet like no time at all, Stiles pulls back. "We need to talk." The words come out smoothly, not at all like Stiles has been crying.

Peter nods. "Of course."

There's a log that looks almost like a bench in the clearing. Stiles sits very close to him, as if he can't bear to be any farther than a few inches away.

"There are laws about what gods can and can't do to each other," Stiles says. "She couldn't go after my priest, but she could kill my mom."

"Who?" Peter asks, surprised and yet not. As soon as he learned Stiles had an enemy, he came up with some possible scenarios. He didn't think of this one, though.

"She didn't give birth to me, you know," Stiles says. "Not the way Claudia did."

"What is her name?" Peter wants to know. 

"It's better that we don't say it," Stiles mutters. "Let's just call her the bitch."

"All right. So if she didn't give birth to you, what did she do?" He's not sure if this is important, but he's listening anyway. 

Stiles sighs and looks off to the distance, into the trees. "My father, the god one, was married to her, but he loved someone else. The bitch let them have their affair, but when she found out a baby was coming, she got jealous. It wasn't that she couldn't have children, but she didn't want my father-god to have such a tie to the woman he loved."

"Was she mortal?"

"Yes, and no? I wasn't there, obviously, but she wasn't human. Maybe she was a werewolf. Maybe something else. No one talks about her except to say what the bitch did to her. My father grieved for a long time."

"Okay. So what happened?"

"Apparently the bitch chopped off her head and I came out."

"I don't think childbirth works that way," Peter mumbles, but he knows he's read similar 'birth' scenes in different religious myths and texts. 

"My father god found us immediately, before the bitch could kill me, too. He told her she had to adopt me now."

Peter raises his eyebrows. "He didn't think that might cause problems?"

"He… isn't that clever, not like us. He doesn't think of consequences the way we do. He does things in the spur of the moment and lets chaos happen in the aftermath, which is good for some things, but he..." Stiles trails off and smiles sadly. "He loved me, though. He did more of the raising of me than she did, though it didn't last as long as it should have. The bitch sent me out on dangerous quests all the time, thinking I'd get myself killed before I fully came into my power."

"Obviously that didn't work," Peter says with a smile.

"No. No, all it did was teach me to love the mortal world. So much that by the time our religion was dying, I wanted to be here rather than elsewhere. My father god was slipping into depression as his worshippers died off, or found other faiths, and the bitch got nastier and nastier with me. It was time to go. I faked my death and started being reborn as a mortal."

"And?" Peter asks, knowing there has to be more to the story.

"And apparently my father-god blames the bitch for my death. He couldn't prove it, but it seems like she's had a rough time of it since I left." Stiles's face crumples and Peter can feel the shifting emotions inside him. "The bitch felt it when I took you as my priest. She found me, and saw the way I was living. She got jealous, I guess, and cursed my mother."

"I thought you said it wasn't magic?" Peter says.

Stiles closes his eyes. "It was too subtle. I didn't catch it."

"So what happens now?" Peter asks, trying to keep Stiles focused. 

"She said she'd do the same to Dad if I don't go with her to wake my father-god up and show him I'm alive."

"Where are you going?" Peter asks. "When?" There's no question Stiles will be going. Peter knows he won't lose his Dad, too. Not if he can help it.

Stiles glances at the nemeton. "To the seat of our power. 'Home', I guess. And I told her to give me a day, so… less than a day. I just don't know how long I'll be gone."

Peter frowns. "Can I go with you?"

Stiles gives him a wide-eyed look and surprise passes through their bond. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," Peter says. "You're my god and I'm your priest." _I'd do anything for you._

Stiles smiles and leans his head against him. "Thank you. You can't come, but I appreciate the offer."

"Then I'll stay here and wait," Peter says. "But what will you do if you need me?"

"I do need you, and I will. But your prayer is enough, prayer and offerings. They keep me strong."

"Speaking of," Peter says, and pulls some banana taffy out of his pocket. "This is for you."

Stiles smiles and takes it. "You just carry it around with you?"

"In case you stop by. Yes," Peter admits. 

"You're a good priest," Stiles tells him. Then he sighs.

"What is it?"

"Time moves differently in that realm. I might be back in an hour, or it could be years. I have no way of knowing. And I don't know what my father god will have me do once I get there."

Peter doesn't want to think of what he would do without Stiles for years. Yes, he can handle it. But he doesn't want to.

"My dad will be upset that I'm gone," Stiles says with a sigh. "I guess that's what I'm worried about the most."

"I'll make him understand," Peter promises.

"How?" Stiles asks.

"I guess I'll tell him the truth."

Stiles laughs. "Okay. Um. Maybe I can do something before I leave, to make him a little… fuzzy on my details. If I can muster the power, things will go a lot smoother."

"You didn't think of that before?"

"I did, but I can never tell with my power levels. Hopefully it'll work."

"Of course it will work," Peter says, pushing belief down the bond.

Stiles smiles at him. "Thank you."

"What do you need to do before you leave?" Peter asks.

"I don't know. I want to spend some time with your pack, I guess."

"Not John?"

Stiles's lips twist. "He passed out. He probably won't wake until morning."

"I'm sorry," Peter says softly.

"I love him. But I worry. Will you look out for him while I'm gone?"

Peter wraps an arm around his boy god. He feels so small against him, so vulnerable. "Of course I will."

* * *

Right before Stiles leaves, he puts a hand on John's forehead. He doesn't do much, just makes him fuzzy on details when it comes to his son. He'll tell others that Stiles went to visit an aunt on the other side of the country. This way, there will be a ready-made excuse when Stiles returns again. 

He was truthful when he told Peter he didn't know when he'd be back. Hopefully it won't be too long.

Peter is still waiting for him at the nemeton when he returns. He seems reluctant to let Stiles go.

Stiles gives him a hug, rubbing his cheek against Peter's to scent him. It's the first time he's done so, and Peter's pleased surprise runs along the bond. 

"We won't be able to feel each other as clearly as we do now, if at all," Stiles says. "I'm sorry."

Peter nods. "I understand."

Stiles waves his hand and creates a portal in the trunk of the tree. Peter's eyes widen. It's something Stiles has always been able to do, no matter how low on power he's gotten. He could always go 'home'. But the dwelling place of the gods, the otherworld, isn't home to him anymore and hasn't been in a long, long time. He takes a deep breath and one last look at Peter. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"All right," Peter says. "I-"

Stiles smiles and sends love down their bond. "I know."

And then he steps through, leaving his beloved priest behind. 

He steps through to a crumbling world overwhelmed with overgrowth — vines that look half-dead over the remains of what used to be their temples. 

Despite the decrepit nature of the realm, Stiles does feel instantly stronger here. He can feel his magic gathering, growing inside him as he goes along. Just being here is enough to give him more power.

He figures he won't have to walk long before someone feels him near, but it takes until he's almost at the main structure to feel eyes on him. 

It's her, he knows. He feels nothing but contempt for her, and acts like he doesn't know she's there.

Dust swirls around his feet as he enters his father's temple. There are no flowers, no incense burning. Everything smells dry and old; not even mold grows here. He feels as if he's sleep walking, everything is so surreal. He walks past fallen pillars that have almost crumbled to nothing. The few statues that remain upright have lost limbs. It's very sad, he guesses, but he doesn't really feel anything but gray, which coincidentally enough, is the color of everything in the temple.

His father-god is asleep in his chair, looking like a statue himself, though one that hasn't crumbled.

Stiles sighs. "Father."

There is no response. He speaks more loudly, coming closer and touching his father-god's arm gently. He feels like marble, hard and cold, and just as pale.

The god opens his eyes. 

"Wake up. I'm home to see you," Stiles says.

"Mischief."

It's what he's always been called by close friends and family in this realm, but now it only reminds him of Claudia. The grief is still very sharp. Stiles purses his lips and nods shortly.

His father-god blinks at him and slowly moves from a position he's possibly been holding for hundreds of years. "You're alive?"

"Yes," Stiles says simply. He knows he'll be explaining for awhile, so he sits down to talk before the bitch comes in to ruin everything.

But his father-god doesn't ask for explanations immediately. He just smiles and reaches out to touch him. Then he says, "Why are you a child?"

That's as good a place as any to start, he supposes.

* * *

Peter doesn't brood. He takes care of his pack. He makes sure John is eating and sleeping and not drinking himself to death. He hates that his bond to Stiles is so faint, but at least it's still there. He goes about his business and tries not to think too hard about the absent god.

He prays, though. He worships. He does little acts of mischievous fun in Stiles's name, and teaches Maddie and Cora to do the same. He knows this will make Stiles stronger, and keep their connection itself alive and well.

Weeks and months pass, and Peter resigns himself to waiting, though he aches for his boy god to be close again.

* * *

Stiles doesn't know how long he's been here. Long enough to tell his father god the truth about _her_ , and about why Stiles left in the first place. Long enough to wait for her to be called into his father god's court, to watch the confrontation between them. 

She looks at Stiles with betrayal, as if he somehow should hold some loyalty toward her after all she's done. 

Her punishment is a death sentence: banishment from the immortal realm, stripped of her powers, to live in the mortal world until she fades from existence. 

And of course, Stiles does all of this in his own image, not the guise of an eleven year old human. He's ageless, of course, but he looks like an older teen or a young adult. Forever eighteen, twenty-eight, five hundred and eight, whatever. He sends Peter visions of himself so he won't be so spooked when he sees him again.

He can't exactly leave and come back easily, and his father god wants to spend time with him. So when Stiles has some free time, he shares dreams with Peter, speaks to him, lets him know everything is fine.

He's not sure how much of it gets through, but Stiles is feeling stronger every day. More full of power, the way a god should. Part of it is being in the immortal realm, but most of it is coming from his bond with Peter. He can feel his priest worshipping him, and how he gets others to do so, as well. Stiles wants to let Peter know how much it's appreciated, but he can't yet. Not until he gets back.

It's getting near time to go anyway. His father god knows it, too. He looks at Stiles with sad, resigned eyes, but they are understanding, as well. 

And when Stiles hears Peter call out to him for help, Stiles doesn't have time to say goodbye, but leaves immediately.

* * *

It's a rainy night after a basketball game. Derek did well. Talia and the others have already gone ahead home, so Peter and Derek are alone when the car hits something in the road and skids to the side. They're in the woods on the way home when it happens, and Peter curses. Derek says something about running back to the house, but before they get out of the car to check the tire, something crashes through the window and a hissing sound begins. 

Peter doesn't see what it is, but he knows danger when he smells the wolfsbane aerosol. He tries to push Derek out of the car, but his reflexes slow to a crawl. Derek slumps over and it's the last thing Peter sees before he passes out, too.

He dreams of Stiles. In his dream he knows there's something he needs to tell him, but it's far away from wherever they are. Stiles looks different, like he has in the past few dreams — grown up into a young man, broad shouldered and gorgeous. Peter can't help but feel attraction to his god, where he hadn't before the dreams. Not when his boy god was so much more of a boy. But now he looks like a man, though his smile is the same.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asks as they walk through a stylized version of the forest. "You seem preoccupied."

"I can't put my finger on it. I don't remember… I'm forgetting _something_ ," Peter says. He's frustrated at what he can't think of. 

"Something going on?" Stiles asks.

"Yes, maybe," Peter says with a frown. 

"Anything you need my help with?" Stiles asks. "You know all you have to do is call me."

"I know you've been busy," Peter says. "But this year without you has been hard."

"It's been that long?" Stiles asks. He's mentioned before that time moves differently in the god realm. "How's my dad?"

"Mumbling every chance he can at being watched over by the Hales," Peter says, smiling. "Don't worry. I keep a close eye on him."

"Does he miss me?" Stiles asks. He sounds wistful. 

"We all do," Peter says. "Even Derek, though he won't admit it. Derek-" He stops and frowns. The thing he can't remember has to do with Derek. What is it, what happened?

Stiles sits on a log and sprawls back, face into the imaginary sun. "I miss all of you, too."

"I think Derek's in danger," Peter says. "Something…" He tries to put his finger on it. It's a recent thing, so he thinks back to what he was doing when he fell asleep. The day before, they all got ready for Derek's basketball game. The family cheered him on. Derek was always careful about appearing too fast, too extraordinary. He passed to his teammates more often than not. It still helped them win. Beacon Hills High won the game, Peter remembers, and he waited for Derek to clean up while the rest of the family went ahead home. 

"What is it?" Stiles asks, a split second after Peter remembers.

"We were ambushed. I don't know… they knocked us out in the car. I don't know where they took us."

"Wake up," Stiles says urgently. "Wake up so I can find you!"

Peter opens his eyes to a large, dim room. No, not a room. A warehouse. Hunters certainly go all in with their clichés. Next there will be a villain monologue. 

Derek, chained to the chain link fencing beside him, is still passed out.

"Derek!" Peter hisses. "Wake up!"

HIs head is pounding from the wolfsbane, and he hopes he didn't inhale enough to kill him. But he's awake, unlike his nephew, so that's a good sign. 

He's curious who's taken them, though.

"Yes, Derek," an unfamiliar voice says. "Do wake up." A woman with long blonde hair and a nasty smirk grabs Derek's head by the hair and looks into his face. Peter recognizes her from pictures; this is Kate Argent. 

Derek opens his eyes and instantly recoils from what — or rather, who — he sees. "Kate."

"Aww, don't want to call me 'Katie' for old times' sake?" she says.

"Enough playing with them. You said I could kill them," someone else says, another women. She's much older, maybe an Argent grandmother?

"What's wrong with playing?" Kate says without looking away from Derek. "He's so pretty when he's hurt."

"We don't have time for this," the older woman says. 

"No one can find us here," Kate scoffs. 

Peter knows someone who can. He starts praying under his breath. He uses Stiles's real name, invokes its power and promise. 

"Shut him up!" the old woman says immediately.

Kate toys with something in her hand and suddenly there is electricity running through Peter, and he knows nothing but the pain. He _hates_ it. It's like fire, but nothing like Stiles's fire, nothing so benign. Peter tries to keep his mind on Stiles, to call him for help, but the jolts make him lose all sense.

When he comes back to himself, when words are coherent again, he can hear Kate and the old woman bickering over killing them. 

"Just a little torture, c'mon," Kate says. "We don't have to kill them right away."

"You said-"

"I changed my mind," Kate says flippantly.

The old woman looks thunderous, but also impotent. She has to follow Kate's lead, apparently.

Peter starts praying again, this time in his head, along the bond. _Stiles, I need you right now. Come here. You said you'd come help us. Help us!_

There's a tremble of the floor where Peter's feet are bare on cold concrete. It feels like the beginning of something, and Peter smiles, knowing what that something is. 

"It's too late," the old woman whispers. Then she grabs a knife and stabs Peter in the gut. Normally it wouldn't do much to him, but he can feel the poisoned tip immediately, burning through him. It's a different kind of burn than the electricity, but even more dangerous. If it gets to his heart-

"Mother, what did you just do?"

Kate and the old woman whip around. Peter picks up his head and opens his eyes at the voice.

Stiles is so bright Peter has to squint to see him, and yet he can't look away. The power radiating off him, along with the righteous anger, make him look like the god he is. He might even be taller than Peter now, and that thought makes Peter huff a laugh. 

"Stiles?" Derek says, sounding incredulous but also relieved. Peter feels relief, too. He won't be dying today.

That is, if Stiles knows how to heal wolfsbane poison from a gut wound.

"This is your son?" Kate asks in a voice that breaks with sudden fear.

"Mischief. I've already killed your priest. It will be slow and painful, I'm afraid." The former goddess sounds satisfied at this.

"If anyone here is dying slowly and painfully, it's you," Stiles says, and waves his hand. She and Kate go flying across the room.

So, he's much more powerful than when he left, Peter thinks. That's good. His head lolls as the poison works through him. He's lost a lot of blood, too, and his body can't replace it right now. He needs a miracle. 

"Can you save him?" he hears Derek ask.

"Peter?" Stiles says. "Peter, can you hear me?"

"My god," Peter whispers. It's an effort to lift his head, but Stiles helps, his hands gentle on Peter's face.

"I'm here. Let's get you down." He touches the chains and they break, and he does the same for Derek. His focus is entirely on Peter, though. Derek will be fine. Peter, on the other hand…

"I'm dying," Peter says.

"Nah," Stiles says, and leans in close. "I can fix this." And then he kisses him.

Peter's feeling too wretched from the wound and poison to fully appreciate it, but part of him puts the memory away for later, for when he's alone and entertaining himself. 

He almost doesn't notice that Stiles is burning the poison out of him with his toe-curling kiss. When they break apart, Peter sees his own stunned expression in Stiles's face.

"That's…" Stiles says weakly, then straightens again. "Okay, something to examine later. Let's get out of here. Derek, you okay?"

"Who are you?" Derek mumbles, eyes bleary. He doesn't look too good. 

Stiles holds up three fingers. "How many?"

"What?" Derek asks, clearly unable to focus.

"Shit." Stiles gets on Derek's side and helps him walk. Peter looks back at the women slumped on the ground. 

"Aren't we doing something about them?" he asks.

Stiles transfers Derek's weight to Peter and nods. "I'll deal with it. You take him home."

"Will you be coming back now?" Peter asks. "I mean, are you back?"

Stiles gives him a tired smile. "Yes."

Something inside Peter burns brightly at the news. It keeps him warm on his way out. He steals a car outside and gets his bearings, then drives them back to the newly rebuilt house. He's been staying in the smaller house alone lately, since the family moved into the new one.

Tonight he'll spend time with his pack, though. At least for a little while, and he'll leave with Stiles if it's required. He's buzzing from his god's presence, and the kiss, and the absolute power the god radiated. It's running through him. He wonders if it's a priest thing or a Stiles and Peter thing.

* * *

Stiles looks at Kate Argent and the former goddess sprawled on the floor. They are only now regaining consciousness. Stiles isn't sure what to do with them. He's not a god of vengeance, but he needs them out of the way, out of their lives. 

When Kate gets her bearings again, she looks at him with a mix of fear and disgust. His 'mother', on the other hand, just looks defeated.

"What are you going to do with us?" she asks, and Kate reaches for something in her boot. Another knife, maybe. Which makes Stiles remember what happened to Peter.

"I don't want to waste my time with either of you," Stiles says. He now has an idea, though.

"I have a family who'll miss me. They'll ask questions," Kate says.

"I'll send your whole hunting family straight to hell if they try to hurt me or mine again," Stiles says, and he knows he can do it. He has power again, and with Peter at his side giving him worship and respect, his power can only grow. 

"Mischief," the former goddess says dully. "Just kill me. I have nothing, now. No power, no family."

"You should have thought of that before you killed my mom," Stiles tells her.

Kate looks at her in surprise. "You're an even stupider bitch than I thought. _That's_ what happened?"

"She was mortal. Nothing."

"No, she-" Stiles says, and stops before coming closer. He knows if he lets them rile him that Kate will attack and while she may not be able to kill him, she might be able to hurt him before he can retaliate. He shakes his head and keeps his distance. "She was the mom you should have been. She was everything to me and my dad. But now you're what you thought she was. Mortal and _nothing_."

He waves his hand and sends them both in chains to his father god. Let him deal with them. Maybe three hundred years of servitude in a dying realm will teach them some manners. Or maybe his father will simply kill them. Stiles doesn't really care, as long as they don't come back to bother him and his.

And speaking of his, he needs to visit his dad and see what he can do about that situation. He doesn't want to lose him, but convincing him that the now-young-adult-looking Stiles is still _Stiles_ might take some long explanations, and Stiles should hurry up and get started if he wants to get back to Peter anytime soon.

He shows up at the house and almost walks right in, but then he figures that might get him shot as an intruder. Not that his father is trigger-happy, but he does have a gun and he's not sure how much Peter has been able to curtail his dad's drinking.

So he knocks. He's not expecting John's immediate recognition. 

"Stiles?" His dad's eyes are wide but he definitely knows him.

Stiles gives him a lopsided smile. "Hey, daddio."

John pulls him into the house, shuts the door behind him, and gives him a hug.

It turns out that Peter's been telling John more truth than lies, and he knows about werewolves and gods, knows for sure that Stiles saved the Hales that night, and with his awesome detective skills managed to put the clues together and came to the right conclusion.

At first though, he demands all the answers to his questions. Stiles sits him down and tells him everything.

They come to the conclusion that Stiles needs to be a kid sometimes in public, to show the town he's there and growing up at a normal speed, but John looks almost guilty when he suggests Stiles go back to school.

"How about… homeschooling with the Hales?" his dad asks. "We'd have to ask them, but-"

"That's a perfect explanation," Stiles says. He leans in for another hug. 

They get the logistics worked out, so that Stiles can be himself most of the time, but then it's time to apologize.

"I'm sorry I didn't know Mom was sick in time to stop it. I'm sorry I didn't realize what it really was."

His dad sighs heavily and shakes his head. "Kid, I know it's not your fault. I know you loved her."

"I really did," Stiles says softly. It's a heaviness on his heart that will always be there. He's lost people over the centuries, but Claudia's death is the deepest and the freshest. It will take more than just a little time to be able to only remember her with fondness and love. The circumstances make it difficult.

"I don't blame you. I know you would have stopped if if you could. And it sounds like you kept me from going the same way. Plus you've had Peter here making sure I didn't drink myself to death either, so there's that, too."

"Not sorry for that," Stiles tells him.

There's more hugging. John holds on like he doesn't want to let go. "I don't care if you're a god. You're my kid. You'll always be my kid."

"Of course," Stiles says, voice breaking with emotion. At the moment, he's especially glad he's a god, because his dad is squeezing him a little too tight for breath.

They break apart finally. His dad looks at him with clear eyes, and Stiles is glad he's got someone else who knows what he is but still loves him for him. 

"Go on, then. I know you want to see Peter. He was hurt pretty badly, huh?"

"I made sure he was okay. Derek too. But… yeah, I'd like to see him."

For more than one reason.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" John asks.

Stiles nods. "Yeah. I'll definitely come back."

John pats him on the back. "Good. I couldn't say it when you were eleven, but I'm going to say it now: I need you, kid. You're all I've got left."

Stiles thinks John will fit in well with the Hales, and a scheme to induct him into the pack starts coming together in the back of his mind. 

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, kiddo."

* * *

It's after midnight when Peter feels a tug on their bond. Stiles is close, but he's not sure of his reception, it feels like. Peter slips out of the house and meets him in the woods.

"You didn't have to come outside," Stiles says.

Peter, who always wants to be near his god, doesn't know how to answer this except to move closer. "I've been staying in the smaller house. Want to walk over there?"

They fall into step as soon as they start walking. Stiles slips his hand into Peter's like nothing at all has changed. 

"Everything taken care of?" Peter asks.

Stiles nods, visible in the moonlight. Even as Peter thinks it, Stiles looks up at the moon and remarks, "It's so bright. I forgot how bright it was."

"The moon?" Peter asks.

Stiles nods again. "And its pull on you. I can feel it."

Peter would normally have the urge to run, to hunt, but right now he only wants to be with Stiles. 

Stiles smiles at him as if he can read his mind. "How are you feeling? How is Derek?"

"Derek's fine, as am I, though mine is still healing," Peter says, putting a hand to his abdomen where the knife went in. 

"Let's get inside so I can see," Stiles says.

Peter pulls away just long enough to enter his code into the door's security lock. Things have changed since Stiles has been here, and Talia decided everyone should be protected as much as possible. Which reminds him… "Do you think you could ward the main house like you did this one?"

"Of course," Stiles says, zeroing in on Peter's torso as soon as the light is flicked on. "Let me see."

Peter stands still as Stiles pushes his shirt up to run his fingertips over the inch-long red scar on his abdomen. "It's not bad. Could be a lot worse. It's just superficial now. It'll scar because of the wolfsbane, though."

"I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough. I should have known she'd try to get her revenge."

Peter sucks in a breath when Stiles's fingers trace over his abs. Stiles looks up at the slight sound and looks serious. 

"I'm sorry. I should have asked before I touched you," he says. He doesn't pull his hand away, though. 

"I'm yours," Peter says without thinking. "Every bit of me."

"It's late," Stiles says, in a deeper voice that Peter's only known from his dreams until very recently. He's a grown… god. Not a boy anymore, at any rate, and he's incredibly attractive. Peter is responding to that, but more so to his power. It's impossible to miss the way his aura flares, the way his eyes glow with something even more appealing than the power. 

Stiles _wants_ him. Peter could very well be over his head, but he would gladly drown in this if it's what his god would have of him. 

And then Stiles moves away and Peter wonders if he's read this entirely wrong. But no, Stiles is walking into Peter's bedroom, zeroing in perfectly on it as if he's the one with wolf senses. Peter follows, and it's almost like being in another one of their dreams, though they never fell together this way in a dream. 

Peter finds himself pressed against the door of his bedroom as soon as its closed, but Stiles doesn't kiss him yet. 

"You don't have to do this," Stiles says. "You're still my priest. You'll always have my favor, and I'll always protect you. This isn't… required."

"Believe me, darling, I'm not about to be pushed into anything. I'm with you here because I want to be."

Stiles smiles. "Good." He looks at Peter hungrily once more before moving in for a kiss, and all thought is obliterated. Peter tries to kiss back just as much as he can, but in the end it is a surrender.

"God," Peter gasps. "I wanted…"

"Yes?" Stiles asks, trailing kisses down to Peter's bared throat.

Peter whimpers. He almost forgot what he was about to say. "I didn't imagine it would be like this. I thought… I thought I would worship you." It's hard to think when his god has teeth as sharp as that right at his jugular. 

Stiles hums against his neck. "That does sound nice. But right now think of this as a different form of worship. The bed can be my altar. And you're my gorgeous sacrifice."

Peter laughs until he finds himself flat on his back, naked somehow, lying on the bed. Stiles looks at him like he wants to eat him up, which is a role reversal that makes Peter's head spin even more than it is already.

Stiles is naked too, prowling closer until he covers him, and he's warm, almost hot, even more than Peter as a werewolf.

Peter holds on and lets himself be taken, as he should be. He doesn't want to close his eyes, can't stand to not be looking at his god for every fiery, possessive touch.

"I never want to leave this moment," Peter somehow gasps out.

"We'll come back," Stiles promises, kissing down Peter's chest and scarred belly. "Again and again." He nuzzles Peter's cock, which is hard and leaking, and when he takes it into his mouth it's almost as if Stiles is the one worshipping Peter. 

And Peter isn't sure if it's Stiles's experience or his power, but it's the best blowjob ever. He quickly loses his sense of time and place, just _feels_ , his hands fisted in the sheets, his eyes shut so tight he can only see fireworks when he comes.

He's left panting like he's run a marathon even though he's done none of the work whatsoever. He finally opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Stiles's smug face. Peter huffs a laugh and beckons him closer, 

"That good?" Stiles asks, cuddling into Peter's side.

"I think you know," Peter says once he has the breath to do so. "Give me a moment and I'll be ready for more. Well, a few moments. Long moments." He laughs again and kisses Stiles's temple.

"We don't have to do more," Stiles says simply, even though he's obviously hard against Peter's skin. "It's been a long day."

After a few minutes, once Peter can think clearly again, he grins and wraps his hand around Stiles's cock. "Are you saying you don't want to fuck me?"

"You can fuck _me_ if you'd rather," Stiles says, propping himself up on one arm. Peter strokes him and his eyelids flutter closed. He moans softly and pushes into it. "Or just keep doing that."

"Honestly? I want it all," Peter says. He leans in and kisses Stiles hungrily and the god gives back as good as he gets, surging up and climbing on top of Peter like he can't get enough.

The bed isn't that big, but somehow when Peter flips them, they don't end up on the floor. Instead, Peter is above Stiles, reaching for the lube in his bedside table. Stiles quickly catches on, grabbing it from him and insisting, "I'll do this part."

Stiles's fingers in this form are long and talented, almost too good to be true. Peter would have been happy with just this: being teased and fingered until his eyes roll back and his throat makes the most embarrassing whine. 

Somehow, he keeps from coming before Stiles is inside him, and then Peter is sinking down on his cock, slow enough to enjoy every inch. He looks down and sees Stiles watching him, his eyes glowing. Peter flashes his own wolf eyes at his god and begins to ride.

Their fingers entwine, and Peter moans as their bond sings louder, brighter in his mind. It's more than sex, it's more than Peter's ever felt. He's touching god, god is inside him, he's having a fucking religious experience here.

He looks at Stiles again and finds him grinning. Peter grins back and starts working, clenching around Stiles's cock. 

It's not quite the worshipful seduction Peter had in mind, this reality is so much more. 

Stiles sits up, pulls Peter into his lap, and they rock together, holding onto each other, each of them desperate for more. Their moans and the sounds of flesh on flesh are loud in the room, and somehow Peter loses all track of time and space, until it's only him and Stiles, god and priest, but more: two men, falling into their desire, into their infinite hunger for each other. 

Peter might be chanting, might be yelling, when he finally comes, so hard it nearly is painful. 

They collapse into a tangle of limbs and Peter vaguely realizes Stiles must have come too, but Peter was too far gone into his pleasure to realize it. 

Stiles says nothing, but their bond pulses like a heartbeat between them, sending so much emotion it's nearly debilitating. It's a good thing Peter doesn't have to do anything but bask in the afterglow.

Peter sighs, content, watching muzzily as Stiles strokes up and down his arm with gentle, blunt fingernails. 

"You're everything I could possibly want," Stiles murmurs.

Peter snuggles closer, baring his throat, and hopes that's enough to show Stiles how he feels.

They fall asleep like that, spent and sticky, utterly wiped of energy.

* * *

When they travel to the other realm, Stiles keeps a close eye on Peter and his reactions to the place. He is awed, though he does his best to keep his cool and not show it, but Stiles can tell anyway through their bond.

It's night on the other side, but the moon is full and bright enough to light the way, plus Stiles knows Peter can see just fine in the dark. His eyes are shining to help him see, and Stiles lets his own eyes light up as well. It's not as if he'll be found out as not-human here. 

The moon has a corona, wide and breathtakingly colorful. That wasn't the case when Stiles was here last. Maybe it's a sign that things are changing.

The broken remnants of temples on the ground don't look so sad now, either. Stiles and Peter pass them and now they seem more… like history, like something to be celebrated. The gods of their pantheon will never have the same power that they had before, but maybe they can settle into a new normal, a new kind of power.

They walk the path up the hill to Stiles's father god's home. Peter doesn't speak, but the hold he has on Stiles's hand becomes tighter. 

Stiles wants to reassure him. Really, John's reaction to Peter is more important to him than his father god's, but this is still a family meeting. Stiles is brining his mortal lover in to meet his father, for the first time, and now that Stiles thinks about it, maybe it _is_ a big deal. 

"What's wrong?" Peter whispers.

Stiles blinks at him. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice just as hushed.

"You stopped walking. Is this it?"

Stiles turns his head and looks at the entrance to his father god's home. He's a little more anxious about this now that he's thought about it, but he's never backed down from a challenge. Plus, Peter is definitely worthy. He's an excellent priest and a suitable lover. His father can't possibly disapprove.

Stiles squeezes Peter's hand and they step through the large doorway.

It feels different than it did before. He can feel his father's presence in a way that just wasn't possible before. His power. His aura. 

Peter clings to his hand as well and they walk down the aisle to the top of the main room, where his father is sitting, waiting for them. He doesn't look surprised to see them. That makes sense, he is the master and lord of the realm, and should — if his power is up — feel when they entered.

"Mischief," Stiles's father says warmly.

Stiles smiles. "Hello, Father. I told you I'd bring my priest for an introduction. This is Peter Hale."

His father god looks at Peter with a smile that isn't quite a full smile as he assesses. He's silent for what feels like a full two minutes, maybe longer, and then he nods. "Do you love my son, Peter?"

Stiles wants to hide his face because he's suddenly blushing. He's a god; he definitely shouldn't be blushing. But he's also in a young body with a young body's reactions, and can't exactly help it. 

"I do," Peter says, and Stiles feels his conviction and love through the bond. 

Stiles looks at Peter, but Peter isn't looking at him. He's maintaining eye contact with the most powerful being in the realm, the most powerful person he's ever met. Yet he's staring him down as if he knows exactly that he's being measured, and holds every confidence that he'll not be found wanting.

The father god nods. "So you serve him of your own will, with your full heart?"

"Of course," Peter says.

" _Father_ ," Stiles says, not sure where this is going.

"I can't always watch over him," the father god says, ignoring Stiles's embarrassment. "And you're much closer, much more able to protect and see all his needs are met."

Stiles has no idea where this is heading, but it doesn't _seem_ like a bad thing.

The father god, head of the pantheon, looks very human now as he speaks. "I loved Stiles's mother once, and she wasn't my priestess, but she was everything to me. I made mistakes with her." 

Stiles blinks. He knows little about his mother. His father's grief was too great to reminisce about her, or even tell Stiles little details he craved over the years. He learned most of the story from others, so even this tidbit is like gold. He hopes to hear more, so he stays silent.

He's not disappointed. "She was a werewolf," the father god continues. "Strong and sweet, fierce as any warrior. I didn't think I had to worry about losing her."

Stiles's heart nearly breaks at just the thought of losing Peter, though he knows he will one day. Werewolves are long-lived, but they don't live forever.

His father waves his hand and presents a plate of food. "Peter, will you commit to being by my son's side, by eating the god-food and living as long as you can?"

"What?" " _What_?"

Peter and Stiles ask the question at the same time, and the father god smiles with amusement. 

"I didn't offer my lover immortality early enough. I thought I would, eventually, but we had plenty of time. We didn't, of course, and I lost her. So Mischief, learn from my mistake. Take your priest, if you love him, and live happily together for as long as you possibly can."

Stiles looks at Peter, who seems stunned, but is also eyeing the fruit with the kind of calculation and greed Stiles loves about him. Of course Peter wants this, and Stiles wants it, too. 

"Please, Peter," Stiles says. "It's not a light decision, but…" He has lost so much over the years. Families, friends, every single mortal he's met and loved in his lifetimes. But this he can have. Maybe. If Peter accepts.

"I don't need to think about it. I won't leave Stiles." Peter smiles wolfishly. "And of course, immortality isn't something you just pass up."

Stiles releases a breath. "Yes. Right, exactly."

Peter pulls Stiles close and kisses him, right there in front of the father god, and when they break, Stiles is panting and flushed and embarrassed. But also horny, so really maybe they could cut this meeting short. If they can get away with it.

"Peter, eat." the father god says, and Peter does. Stiles watches as his aura slowly strengthens. It will continue to do so, if the legends of the god-fruit are correct, until he shines as brightly as a god. 

"Now, I can tell you're eager to go. You could leave, or explore the rest of the realm," the father god says. "Stay away from the north tower. I have guests."

Stiles raises his eyebrows in questions.

"You sent the women to me for punishment. They've been given the task of cleaning the entire realm." The father god doesn't smirk, though Stiles thinks he would if he was that kind of person.

"That will take centuries," Stiles murmurs to Peter.

"Yes, I'm hoping it will teach them some humility," the father says. "It's just until I find a more fitting punishment for them."

"I'm sure Peter can help you brainstorm if you need ideas," Stiles says.

Peter growls under his breath. "Yes, I could."

"Finish the fruit before we go," Stiles says. He can tell it's working already, but he wants to be sure Peter eats every bite. Just in case. He picks up a piece and feeds it to Peter, who makes a show of doing it in a sensuous way.

The father god clears his throat. "And of course you and your priest could stay in your own dwelling, which was the first to be cleaned."

"Nah." Stiles is well aware of the way time moves differently here. He doesn't want to accidentally stay away from the mortal realm for ten years while he's fucking his priest. He can do that at home.

"Be sure to visit, then," Stiles's father says. "Or perhaps I'll come there and visit you for a change."

Stiles cannot imagine his father god in the mortal realm. "A lot has changed there since… well. A lot has changed."

The father god nods. "Even more reason to see it for myself."

The goodbyes are short, but Stiles hugs his father in the end and whispers his gratitude for Peter's immortality. 

Then they go home, hand in hand, and live happily ever after — which is a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked this!


End file.
